"Are guildmasters always dwarves? I mean, Guildmaster Enkin is a dwarf, and so is Guildmaster Orion," Mixarnt asked, looking at Elara, who burst out laughing.

Elara’s laughter rang out, her shoulders shaking with mirth as she struggled to compose herself. "Oh, Mixarnt, you’re so naive!" she managed to gasp between chuckles. "Guildmasters come in all shapes, sizes, and races. We’re not limited to dwarves, although it’s true that some of our most esteemed leaders have hailed from that sturdy stock." She wiped a tear from her eye, her grin still wide. "Enkin and Orion just happen to be dwarven. Because of the strong traditions and values their kind often embody—resilience, craftsmanship, loyalty, and a deep love for knowledge and storytelling they are suited for the role as Guild Masters. But trust me, you’ll encounter human, elven, and even halfling guildmasters throughout your adventures." Elara’s gaze turned serious for a moment, her tone taking on a note of wisdom. "It’s not about race, Mixarnt. It’s about leadership, dedication, and the ability to inspire others. That’s what makes a great Guild Master."

"I see... Ah, right," Mixarnt said, nodding thoughtfully. Then, shifting the topic, he added, "So, upon entering the guild earlier, I noticed there’s no receptionist. I mean, Guildmaster Orion is the one at the counter." He looked at Orion, who sighed deeply. Orion knew all too well why the guild lacked staff. The Aetherlight Kingdom treated the adventurers’ guild as little more than a band of mercenaries, and because of that, few people—especially women—wanted to work for the guild as staff. The knights’ order, on the other hand, was always fully staffed and well-supported.

Orion’s sigh carried a weight of resignation, his expression tinged with frustration. "You’ve hit upon one of the guild’s most pressing challenges, Mixarnt," he admitted, his tone reflective. "Aetherlight’s perception of us as mere mercenaries have led to a lack of interested candidates for support roles. Unfortunately, that means our leadership often has to double as administrative staff."

He gestured to the counter, where various parchments and ledgers were scattered, bearing witness to the multitasking required of a guildmaster in such circumstances. "I’ve taken on the mantle of receptionist, among other duties, to keep the guild running smoothly despite these limitations." Orion’s eyes, however, sparkled with determination as he fixed Mixarnt with a piercing stare. "But make no mistake, we intend to change that perception over time. It won’t be easy, but we’re committed to showing the people of Aetherlight the true value of adventurers."

Mixarnt walked over to the quest board and took the "Recruit Staff" quest. It was a quest posted by the guildmaster years ago, but no one had been interested in taking it, given the guild’s poor reputation in the kingdom. The quest had gathered dust, much like the guild’s hopes of finding reliable staff. "I’ll take this quest and recruit some staff. I’ll start tomorrow," Mixarnt said casually, tucking the quest parchment into his bag. Without another word, he exited the guild, heading to a nearby tavern to grab some food. As Mixarnt left, Orion and Elara exchanged a glance. 

"Do you think he’ll actually find anyone willing to work here?" Elara asked, her tone skeptical but hopeful.

Orion chuckled, a hint of optimism in his voice. "If anyone can pull it off, it’s that kid. He’s got a way of making the impossible happen."

Meanwhile, Mixarnt strolled through the streets of Aetherlight, his mind already buzzing with ideas. Recruiting staff for the guild might seem like a daunting task, but Mixarnt had never been one to back down from a challenge. With his trademark grin and unshakable determination, he was ready to shake things up—one tavern conversation at a time. 

The night air was crisp and cool, the sound of raucous laughter and clinking glasses drifting from a nearby tavern. The warm glow of the tavern’s windows and the promise of a hearty meal drew him in like a magnet. After a long day, the thought of good food and a lively atmosphere was too tempting to resist.

Inside the tavern, the air was thick with the rich aromas of roasting meat, fresh bread, and fermenting ale. The place was packed, every table filled with patrons engaged in boisterous chatter, games of chance, and the occasional burst of rowdy singing. The atmosphere was lively, almost electric, and Mixarnt felt a surge of energy as he stepped inside. He scanned the room, his sharp eyes quickly adjusting to the dim light. Spotting an empty table near the hearth, he made his way over, drawn by the warmth of the crackling fire. As he took his seat, a waitress approached, her apron stained with the evidence of a busy night. Mixarnt ordered a hearty meal of roasted lamb, mashed root vegetables, and a glass of orange juice. When the food arrived, Mixarnt dug in with gusto, savoring every bite. But it was the orange juice that truly caught his attention. He took a sip, and his eyes lit up with delight. "Wow! This orange juice is great!!! It’s super excellent!" he exclaimed, his voice carrying across the tavern.

The room fell silent for a moment as everyone turned to look at the source of the enthusiastic outburst. There, sitting by the hearth, was an 11-year-old boy, grinning from ear to ear as he held up his glass of orange juice like it was the finest treasure in the world. The patrons exchanged amused glances, some chuckling softly, while others shook their heads in bemusement. "Kid’s got good taste," one burly man remarked, raising his own mug of ale in a mock toast. "Never seen someone so excited about orange juice," another patron added, laughing. Mixarnt, oblivious to the attention he was drawing, continued to enjoy his meal, savoring each bite of the roasted lamb and the creamy mashed vegetables. The orange juice, however, remained the star of the show. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had something so refreshing and delicious.

The grizzled old veteran at the bar let out a hearty guffaw, his laughter booming across the room. "Kid, you must be from the sticks if you get that excited over a glass o' OJ!" he bellowed, his voice carrying over the chatter of the tavern. The other patrons joined in, their laughter and jests adding to the lively atmosphere. Mixarnt, completely unfazed by the attention, took another refreshing sip of his orange juice, his face lighting up with pure joy. He might have been older than the typical child drinking such a beverage, but his youthful innocence and unbridled delight were undeniably infectious.

"Hehe! Well, I won’t deny that I came from the sticks—well, the forest, to be exact," Mixarnt said with a grin, addressing the old man who was laughing. The man was clearly a knight of Aetherlight, his fine armor and confident demeanor marking him as someone of importance. The armored knight, still chuckling, ambled over to Mixarnt’s table. His gauntleted hand rested on the hilt of his sword as he lowered himself onto a stool. "A forest dweller, eh?" he said, his tone conversational but laced with curiosity. "I must say, you’ve got quite the peculiar accent. Not a lot of city slickers sport that rustic twang anymore."

He eyed Mixarnt with a mixture of curiosity and appraisal, his features betraying a life of countless battles and adventures. "You’re a ways from home, aren’t you? What brings a woodlander like yourself to our fair capital, hmm?"

As he waited for Mixarnt’s response, the knight took a swig of his ale, his bushy beard glistening with droplets of frothy foam.

Mixarnt knew he couldn’t outright say he was an adventurer looking to recruit people to work at the guild. Instead, he decided to bring up a topic that would pique the knight’s interest. "Well, I heard that a yearly knight exam is held, and anyone can participate. I wanna try my luck there, lol," Mixarnt said casually, his grin widening.

The knight’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, his ale nearly slipping from his grasp as he processed Mixarnt’s words. "A knight exam, you say? And you think you have what it takes to pass?" He set his mug down with a thud, his gaze narrowing as he studied the young adventurer with newfound intensity. "Aren’t you a bit... young for such endeavors?" the knight asked, his tone a mix of skepticism and genuine curiosity. "Most aspirants to knighthood begin training in their early teens, and even then, the path is arduous and fraught with failure." He leaned in closer, his voice lowering to a conspiratorial whisper. "Tell me, boy, what makes you think you can succeed where so many others have fallen short? And more importantly, what makes you believe you have the right to challenge the noble tradition of knighthood?"

Mixarnt met the knight’s gaze, his deep blue eyes sparkling with confidence. "Well, I may be young, but I’ve already faced my fair share of challenges. I’ve fought monsters, helped save a kingdom, and even outrun a bunch of royal guards," he said with a cheeky grin. "As for the right to challenge knighthood? I don’t think it’s about having the right—it’s about having the courage to try. And if I fail, at least I’ll know I gave it my best shot."

The knight stared at Mixarnt for a long moment, then burst into laughter, his deep voice filling the tavern. "Kid, you’ve got one hell of a story, I’ll give you that," he said, slapping the table. "I like your spirit. Maybe you’re exactly what the knights of Aetherlight need—someone who doesn’t care about tradition and just wants to prove themselves."

He took another swig of his ale, then leaned back, his expression thoughtful. "The exam is in two weeks. If you’re serious about this, you’ll need to prepare. It’s not just about swinging a sword—it’s about strategy, discipline, and heart. Think you’ve got what it takes?"

"Why not? General Eclipse proved that age is just a number" said by another knight as she strode towards Mixarnt's table.

Althea, a confident young knight captain in her early twenties, took a seat beside Edward, her polished armor gleaming under the tavern lights. Her eyes studied Mixarnt with curiosity. "But General Eclipse is certainly exceptional," she acknowledged. "Exceptions prove the rule, don’t they?"

She leaned in slightly in her chair, her gaze sharp. "So, what makes you think you have what it takes to join the knighthood? And more importantly, why do you want to?"

Mixarnt shifted uncomfortably under their scrutiny, taking another sip of his orange juice. "Like I said, I just wanna try my luck," he repled, a hint of exasperation in his voice. He didn’t understand why they were so suspicious—he was just a kid having a drink of OJ.

Althea’s expression softened, amusement flickering in her eyes. "Trying your luck is one thing, but knighthood demands discipline, preparation, and purpose. It’s rare to see someone your age with such ambition."

Edward, crossed his arms. "Aye, and what about your skills, lad? Ever even held a sword? Or are you just another street kid with big dreams?"

Mixarnt set down his glass and met Edward’s gaze, his deep blue eyes unwavering. "I’ve held a sword. I’ve fought monsters, defended a kingdom, and even outrun royal guards," he said with a casual shrug. "I may not have formal training, but I’ve got experience. And I’m willing to learn."

Althea raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. "Outrunning royal guards? That’s quite the claim. Care to explain?"

Mixarnt grinned. "Let’s just say the queen wasn’t happy when I turned down her offer to become a protector of Naeva. But I’ve got my own path to follow."

Edward snorted, though a hint of amusement crossed his face. "Cheeky brat. But I’ll give you this—you’ve got guts. Most kids would be shaking in their boots talking to knights."

Althea chuckled. "Come now Edward, if he is serious about the knight exam, who are we to stop him?"

Edward grumbled but didn’t argue. He took another swig of his ale. "Fine. Just don’t come crying when you get your backside handed to you in the exam kid."

Mixarnt smirked. "Don’t worry, I’ll do my best. And if I fail, at least I’ll know I tried."

Althea nodded. "That’s the right mindset. The exam isn’t just about fighting—it tests strategy, discipline, and character. It’s not for the weak-hearted."

"Fufufu... You won’t believe this. I always play with my wooden sword. I mean, I don’t like metal or iron swords, and with this wooden sword, I will slay a dragon!" Mixarnt declared with determination, holding his wooden sword high before swinging it with all the enthusiasm of a child. The wooden blade hit the wall behind him with a loud thud, leaving a small dent and a few splinters in its wake.

The tavern fell silent, the patrons’ mouths agape as they watched Mixarnt enthusiastically swing his makeshift weapon. Even Edward and Althea exchanged a surprised glance, their initial skepticism momentarily replaced by a mixture of amusement and grudging respect.

Althea leaned in closer, her voice low and encouraging. "Look at that spirit! Maybe you’re onto something, kid. A wooden sword might not be conventional, but it shows you’re willing to learn and train in your own way."

Edward, however, remained unconvinced, his scowl deepening. "Dragon slaying, indeed. More like a dragon’s plaything after one swipe of its claw," he muttered under his breath, shaking his head at what he clearly saw as foolish dreams.

Meanwhile, Mixarnt beamed proudly, his cheeks flushed with excitement as he twirled his trusty wooden sword. "Yah!" he exclaimed, swinging the sword again with all the energy of a child playing make-believe. The tavern patrons, initially stunned, slowly began to chuckle. Then, one by one, they burst out laughing, the sound filling the room as they watched Mixarnt’s antics.

"Yah! Take that, imaginary dragon!" Mixarnt shouted, swinging his wooden sword with exaggerated movements, his face a picture of pure joy. The patrons couldn’t help but laugh harder, their earlier skepticism melting away in the face of his infectious enthusiasm. Edward, despite his gruff demeanor, found himself starting to chuckle as well. "Kid’s got more energy than a pack of wild dogs," he remarked, shaking his head but unable to hide a small smile.

Althea laughed softly, her eyes sparkling with amusement. "He’s certainly... unique. But there’s something refreshing about his honesty. He’s not pretending to be something he’s not."

As the laughter continued, Mixarnt didn’t seem to mind being the center of attention. If anything, he seemed to thrive on it, his swings growing even more dramatic as he pretended to battle an invisible dragon. "Yah! Yah! You’ll never defeat me, foul beast!" he shouted, his wooden sword clacking against the wall with each swing. The tavern, usually filled with the sounds of clinking glasses and murmured conversations, was now alive with laughter and cheers. Even the most hardened patrons couldn’t help but smile at the sight of the young adventurer, his wooden sword in hand, living out his dreams with unbridled enthusiasm.